


Lucky Dwarves and Clever Ducklings

by octopus_fool



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2304854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night of the feast in Laketown, Thorin contemplates the road ahead when he is joined by an unexpectedly insightful Tilda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Dwarves and Clever Ducklings

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by [this piece of art](http://allysartsuff.tumblr.com/post/73868698341/no-srsly-tilda-lots-of-dwarves-and-little-people). I figured Thorin could do with some cuteness as well.

“Master dwarf? May I sit here?”

Thorin looked up from the dark water to see the younger of Bard’s daughters. She was holding an old ragdoll that looked as though it had been dearly loved by more than one child.

Thorin sighed. He had grown tired of the Master’s endless speeches and while he was glad that his companions were enjoying themselves at the feast, he had waited until his absence would not be noticed and then slipped out of the door. The mountain loomed large in his thoughts, although the night was too dark for Thorin to see it and the thought of the dragon had given him sleepless nights since they had arrived in Laketown. He also feared that the promises he had made to gain the Lakemen’s support would prove impossible to keep. Worst of all, Kíli’s injury gnawed at his mind. He would need to decide what to do with him before the morning dawned. Company was the last thing he wanted.

Still, the girl’s father had kept his word and smuggled them into the town, putting his own family at risk. Thorin moved over on the edge of the pier and jerked his head at the free space in invitation.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?”

The girl grimaced. “Da didn’t want to let us go to the feast at all, but Sigrid managed to convince him. She is good at getting what she wants. She said that if the dragon is going to burn the town anyway, we might as well enjoy ourselves one last time. They didn’t want me to hear that though. I had to stay outside, but I know the best places for listening.” She chewed her lower lip for a moment and hugged her tatty doll closer. “They think I’m too small to know what’s going on and don’t want to scare me. But I’m not afraid of a stupid old dragon!”

Thorin almost had to smile at her determination to be brave. “It’s alright to be afraid of dragons. I am. But this one is dead and turned into a pile of old bones and scales years ago.” He hoped. He hoped so very much, because what else was there to do? They had no plan of how to deal with a living dragon. There simply _was_ no way to deal with living dragons.

“You think?” The girl asked.

Thorin nodded with more conviction than he felt. “Yes. Even dragons do not live forever.”

She contemplated this for a moment and looked up at him hopefully. “Then will you bring me a back a tooth, or maybe a bone? Bain has a necklace made from the tooth of a boar he helped kill. If I have one with a dragon’s tooth, he’ll have to stop showing off about it.”

Thorin hesitated. The dragon’s teeth would be bigger than the entire child. “I’ll see what I can do.” Perhaps he would find a very small bone that could be used as a stool or perhaps a scale to serve as a shield.

She beamed. “I’ll be Queen Tilda Dragontooth! And I’ll make Bain do all the dishes and chop all the vegetables!”

So Tilda was her name. Thorin had been so preoccupied with all manner of things that he hadn’t paid much note to his host’s children. Balin was much better at the niceties anyway.

“Da said you are a king. Is that true?”

“I will be, once I am back in Erebor and start to rebuild it for my people. You know, a king is not a king without a kingdom.”

Tilda nodded earnestly. “I know. Da’s great-grandda was a king too, before the dragon came. But the dragon killed him and Dale is no more than ashes, so there is no king anymore. Sigrid says the Master thinks Da wants to be king and that’s why he hates him.” Suddenly, she giggled. “I can’t really imagine Da as a king. He’s often so glum and smells of fish, onions, cabbage or whatever he had to transport that day. I can’t imagine him looking all royal with a crown and everything.”

Thorin thought back to the countless days he had spent covered in sweat and the general grime of the forge, working menial tasks for a handful of coins in the villages of men and of travelling bad roads when autumn storms turned them into rivers of mud. He had looked like little more than a vagabond and had sometimes wondered what his nephews had thought of him.

“I’m sure your Da does his best to keep you safe and comfortable.”

“I know. He’s good at that. And he tells the best stories at bedtime. Only Ma was better at that than he is, but she died when I was very small.”

Thorin wondered what he should say to that, but the girl didn’t seem too upset about it, only thoughtful.

“My Ma used to say that dwarves bring you luck.” Tilda looked at him and Thorin tried not to roll his eyes. He had suffered through this often enough when travelling the villages of Men. But to his relief, Tilda did not seem to be about to reach out and pat him on the head.

“But you don’t seem to be very lucky. Da says you lost your kingdom when you were young and all your things when you came here. And Da had to dump fish on you to get you into town and made you climb through the toilet. That doesn’t seem very lucky to me.” She giggled and then turned contemplative again. “If you lost your luck, how could any luck jump from you to other people? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re a clever little duckling,” Thorin said. “The only luck I’ve had was that I’ve always managed to escape alive. That’s good enough for me, but I think most people wish for other things when they think dwarves bring good luck.”

Tilda nodded, then scrunched up her forehead. “Why do you call me a duckling?”

Thorin shrugged. “It seemed fitting. I called my nephews badger and bear when they were little. Don’t people here give their children animal nicknames?”

“I don’t think so. But I like it!” Tilda smiled at him.

Thorin became aware of distant calling. “Tilda? Tilda, where are you?”

Tilda startled. “That’s my Da. He said I should come home when the second evening bell rang, but I didn’t want to, so I left the feast and came here. I should probably hide. You won’t tell him where I am, will you?” She looked at the barrels on the pier.

“He’s probably very worried about you. You should go back, it is rather late after all. I think I’ll also turn in soon.”

For a moment, Tilda frowned. Then she shrugged and got up. “I guess so.”

She started walking towards her father, but after two steps she stopped and turned around again. “You’re much nicer than Da said you were. I hope you find your good luck!” She waved goodbye to him. He waved back and Tilda turned around and skipped towards her Da, who was now visible at the far side of the pier.

Thorin watched as Bard hugged his daughter close. Unbidden, the image of Dís welcoming her sons home after a hunting trip came into his mind. Thorin swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat and realised that his mind was made up. There was no way he could ever face Dís again if he risked Kíli’s health by letting him continue on the journey in his state.


End file.
